The Poetry Of.
Marie Lecrivain......................................
Not Amelie
Through the glass
at the Pompideau bookstore
you smile,
wave
and adjust your collar
with the self-assurance of an All-American mammal,
I mean…male.
I smile back, wave
fiddle with postcards,
stare at the Miro calendars.
You beckon,
I shake my head no,
and make my way to the grimoires
of postmodernism.
I turn -
you're almost upon me,
my head reaches your chin
and your sweater smells like Tide,
so far from home.
"Vouz parlez francais? " you inquire in
. Berlitz French.
"Non," I say," American. Just like you."
You mumble 'excuse me,'
shove your hands into
pants pockets,
scurry away.
I hope you remember
we'll always have Paris.
the turtle and the girl
(to Laura Nye)
The turtle holding
up the world is now hiding
in the curls of her
hair. He pauses to listen
for her playful mantra of
laughter that spills from
her lips and into his ears,
washing away all
karmic strain, and relieving
eternally tired joints.
Refreshed, the turtle
once again assumes the weight
of the world, while
the girl's mantra of laughter
cycles into the cosmos.
arnold brought us together
you're sitting over there,
drinking something oily in a cup.
i'm sitting over here,
sucking on a bottle of naive water.
you come over,
ease yourself down next to me
and say,
"so…
who?
are
you?
going to vote for?"
my mouth drops open,
for a second.
one second
when crickets draw out
one razored G sharp note
on the backs of skinny legs.
one second,
where you've challenged my privacy.
it's a weird time:
we spend it
viewing the array of gubernatorial freaks
showing off in a media circus: the muscle man,
our lady of the mammarys,
the lonely midget who likes to haunt malls,
and a serial killer of melons.
the world's darkest albino
who has no heart,
desperately wants to keep his job.
i'd like to vote for the bearded lady,
but she's not running.
she's already withdrawn her candidacy to retire to Iberia.
(where in the hell is Iberia?
do they have 134 people running for governor?)
this second
draws
out...
i know my vote
is bread cast into the
waters of chance.
i hope the fish are hungry.
i close my mouth
open again and say,
"that's an awfully private question?!"
but
i'm voting
'no.'
i'm voting for the brown bear.
he'll keep things in place,
and likes to fish."
you don't like my answer,
insist
we're on the same side.
you like the muscle man.
muscles keeps
government bones steady.
our side
needs strong muscles.
i tell you
everyone loves a circus,
that bread
should be used to nourish the body,
but you walk away,
sipping on your oily drink.
i finish my water
and wait for my friend, who
upon hearing this story,
laughs at your
futile attempt to
use civic duty
as a pick-up tactic.
